The Gathering Brotherhood
by Prieda Solo
Summary: By the beginning of the first X-men film, Magneto had gathered the brotherhood around him. This is the story of where they came from, how they met and how well or otherwise they all got on with each other. No pairings, no OC's, just the brotherhood. chap8
1. Beginnings

Brotherhood 1

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the creators, writers and illustrators of the X-men comics and the director and producer of the films. This is a work of fanfiction, I make no money from it, and no copyright infringement is intended. Any characters you don't recognise are open source, use them if you want.

Mortimer Toynbee is Toad, Victor Creed is Sabretooth.

Beginnings

When he was seven, Mortimer Toynbee gave up on adults. The main thing was that they lied. Not just about the little things (this won't hurt, everything's alright don't worry, you'll really enjoy it, etc) everyone lied about the little things, but they even lied about big things. They told you to never lie, and always share, and not be afraid to stand up to people and then they just left you out in the world where you discovered that all of it, _all of it_ was lies. That telling the truth got you in trouble, sharing got you exploited and standing up to people?

That had to be one of the worst lies ever.

They told you that hospitals made you better, and policemen looked after you and teachers were there to help you. Sometimes Mortimer figured that the best way to work out what the world was like was to take anything any adult told you and turn it upside-down. That way at least it wouldn't hurt too much when you did hit the world, or rather, when you entered the world and it hit you.

And he never understood why they did it. What benefit did it possible give them, would it give _anyone_ to tell a kid that bad things only happened to bad people and then send them out into a world where this was blatantly not the case? What did teachers gain from telling you to stand up for what you believed in? Did they get some sort of sick pleasure out of the knowledge that someday some guy would smash you into a wall for disagreeing with him?

He didn't get it at all. Which was why, he supposed, that he spent so many of his years at the orphanage in London sneaking into the computer room. Computers made sense, they had rules, they did things so much more simply than people. They gave you crap, true enough, but only if you gave it to them first and, best of all, they didn't change. They didn't tell you to 'be your own person' and then get all stroppy when you decided to eat with your hands, or to 'always tell the truth' and then slap you for admitting about the broken window. They had hard cold rules, and he was fine with that. Rules he could understand, it was the lies that he found baffling.

By the time he was fifteen, Mortimer Toynbee had given up on people.

* * *

Rumour is not solid, a heavy clunky thing that passes from one person to another. Nor is it liquid, flowing around in mixed gatherings, swirling into whirlpools as its distortions show. Instead it is air, flying, floating, changing (but always with a core of truth).

And sometimes it doesn't even need people to spread. The Weapon X disaster was meant to stay a secret, and everyone involved in the procedure who was still alive would swear blind they hadn't told. But it's hard to keep a secret when a fully grown naked man spills out into the snow, screaming and crying, drenched in blood, howling into the night, the taut red lines on his skin still healing.

The rumour spread like air, insidiously slipping through the strongest meshes. It floated over the hills and through the bars until it reached Victor Creed, who was sitting in a small damp cell and wondering: if he was X5, who the hell were the other four?

The rumour contained the word 'Wolverine' and Creed pricked up his ears at that. That was a name he knew. Somehow everyone knew about the Wolverine. X2. The ultimate weapon….

(Although sometimes Creed wondered why, if Wolverine were the _ultimate_ weapon, he'd been X2 rather than X1. He guessed that Stryker always wanted to leave room for perfection).

Wolverine had escaped. Wolverine had run out, and no one knew where he was.

Creed thought for a moment, trying to remember why he knew Wolverine so well. They'd taken out most of his memories for the procedure, that had been part of the deal (they got extra abilities, the government got some nice new weapons, and they lost enough memories to make sure they had no background) but he'd asked to be allowed to remember some of his time in the army. He'd enjoyed the army, and he had a sneaky feeling that Wolverine had been there too, involved in some capacity.

He still felt slightly queasy after his own operation. It hadn't done much, admittedly, just lengthened his claws and bulked up his muscle mass, but it had still been bad enough. He knew he'd get better though, given time, and then, maybe then, he might think about getting out.

"Hell." He grumbled under his breath. "If he can get out, what's stopping me?"

* * *

A/N: And here we go again. :) All backstory is made up by me, and is based on the events of the X-men movies. I've also tried to keep it vaguely consistent with my first X-men story, 'Playing with Fire' although both of them are separate, stand-alone stories.

Oh lor' : the Return of the Crappy Chapter Titles.


	2. Influences

Disclaimer: See first chapter.

Influences

She said nothing throughout the entire debate, (which wasn't even an argument, and part of her wished it had been). She said nothing when Magneto walked out, as they walked passed the lake and the grounds of the mansion. She stayed quiet right up until they were in the car, she was driving, and Magneto turned to her and said "Well?"

"What."

"Mystique, you've got your 'angry' look on. What are you thinking?"

Her expression didn't change. "Why did we walk out? Why was it us and not him?"

"Well." Magneto gave a small smile. "He was sitting down."

Xavier had been sitting down, smiling with that faintly annoying smile he had that always made her worry that he was snooping around inside her head. Magneto had stood in front of him, talking quietly, although he'd had a paperclip floating between his hands that had been twisting violently out of shape throughout the whole conversation.

"It was…" Magneto paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, "It was his school really."

"You both built it."

"Yes, but he wanted it. I wanted a base, he wanted a school."

"So you built a school."

Magneto gave a small twisted smile, "Are you suggesting that Charles was the one with more power?"

Mystique said nothing but he didn't need to be a mind-reader to see her thoughts, written plainly on her face, _of course I do Erik, we were the ones that walked out!_

"We can make a base of our own." Magneto continued, glancing sideways to try and gauge her expression. "In that cave, near the cliffs."

"I'm sure parents will be _dying_ to send their children there." She countered sarcastically. "You'll have an army to match Charles in no time."

"My dear, there are some depths to which even I would shudder to sink. I am not planning on using children. I prefer my … followers," She smirked but he continued, "to have already made up their minds. There are plenty of angry adults out there. Mutants have _never_ been treated well."

She raised an eyebrow, "And you can trust these angry adults to choose the right thing?"

"Oh yes. Charles promises nothing except a place to hide. I can give them so much more."

* * *

"Uh…Professor?" Scott walked in, nervously twisting his shirt in his hands, his voice half-breaking in the beginnings of adolescence, "Um, I saw Magneto leave."

"Yes." Xavier said, frowning into the distance, just in time to see the car turn out of the mansion, leaving a trail of dust behind.

"He's gone?" Scott asked, half-confused, half-pleased. The Professor and Magneto had worked for a long time together, and he could never understand why when they seemed to have such radically different ideas. They'd argued throughout the building of the school, and almost continuously during the last two months since it had been completed.

"Yes." Xavier gave a sigh. "For now, at least."

* * *

Alvers. He'd only been at the orphanage for a week and suddenly his name was everywhere. Alvers was a 'problem child' he'd just come out of prison, they said. He smoked behind the sheds, he drove without a licence, he would do anything for a dare, they said he'd destroyed a _garage_, a whole _garage_.

Mortimer was curious. New children came quite often, passing through from foster homes, babies found abandoned, but coming straight out of prison, as in the case of Lance Alvers, was rare. Mortimer had heard about prison, and seeing as he'd already worked out that there was some kind of adult-borne conspiracy going on to hide the truth from him, wanted to find out what it was actually like.

He crouched down in the mud behind the sheds in what the orphanage optimistically referred to as a garden, waiting. It was late afternoon, the shadows were just stretching across the patch of moss and weeds that covered for a lawn, and the television aerials hummed with the late-afternoon sound of people settling down to do nothing. Mort rested his head against the side of the shed and listened with a happy smile to the distant yelling that told of someone else getting into trouble that had nothing to do with him.

"Hey Toady."

The smile vanished and he scowled wondering how someone who'd only been at the place for a week already knew his stupid nickname. "Hey."

Lance leant against the side of the shed and pulled out a battered home-rolled cigarette. Mort watched, fascinated, as he struck a match against the crumbling brickwork and lit it, inhaling deeply. For the first time, he felt the stirrings of a slight form of hero-worship. Lance didn't give a damn about anything, whereas Toad worried about everything. He wondered if he should try to get some rips in his jeans, like Lance.

"So, uh." Toad started, tensing himself for a quick getaway, "They say you came from prison?"

"Yep." Lance blew the smoke out over the wilting fuchsia bush and tried to look as tough as he could.

"Wow." Toad said softly. "What, what for?"

"Razed a garage."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"A whole garage?"

Lance frowned slightly in annoyance. "I didn't do it on purpose."

"You destroyed a garage…accidentally?"

Lance squinted down at him. "Hey Toady, you know what a mutant is, right?"

"No." He'd heard of the term, but hadn't quite understood it, or whether it related to him. He'd even been called it a couple of times, but there were plenty of things he'd been called (and that he'd called other people) that he didn't quite understand the meaning of. Mutant was just another word you got in trouble for saying.

"It's a freak. Someone weird. Someone different. Someone who can do things other people can't."

"Like this?" Eager to participate, he shot his tongue out, catching a fly resting on the side of the wall.

Lance turned slightly green, "Uh. That's gross."

Toad stared at the ground, feeling stupid.

"But yeah. That would be a mutant-thing. Hey Toady, that means you're a mutant too."

Too? Did he have something in common with this superior shining god-of-rebellion? "You, you're a …mutant?"

"Yep." He took another drag on the cigarette.

"What do you do?"

Lance gave a half shrug, "I screw up garages."

* * *

By his second week at the orphanage everyone knew that the cool tough Lance Alvers was hanging around with the geeky Toad-kid. It didn't make much sense to anyone, and it worried the teachers who tried to have serious talks with Mortimer about how hanging around with 'that sort of person' was bad for him.

Once again, their words baffled him. Lance was the only friend he'd had, the only person who treated him the same way they treated everyone else. Admittedly Lance treated _everyone_ like they were just something he had to temporarily put up with, but it was nice to have some one to talk to and hang around with.

They said that Lance was a Bad Influence. Toad thought Lance was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He worshipped the older boy, and who cared if it got him into more trouble? He was usually in trouble anyway, getting detention for being found behind the bike sheds with someone who was smoking was nothing new.

And this time, the detention supervisor was late. Lance drummed his heals against the desk and then stood up. "Screw this Toady, c'mon, let's go."

"But…we'll miss detention."

"So? Spend enough of my life in this lousy place without wasting an evening."

It was a new concept for Toad. He was also finding that the previously hated nickname sounded different when Lance said it. More like a secret alibi than a stupid taunt. "We'll get into more trouble when they find out."

"Who cares. Let's go for a drive."

They sneaked out into the car park, where Toad eyed Lance's battered jeep with a worried sort of feeling in his stomach. "Are you allowed to drive?"

"Almost. I _can _drive, I just didn't get a licence yet. I will when I'm old enough." Lance swung himself into the drivers seat. "It's like drinking. You _can_ drink at any age, it's just not official till you're eighteen. That's why I store the jeep in the school car-park. Everyone just thinks it belongs to one of the teachers."

"Oh." Not wanting to seem afraid, Toad pulled himself up onto the seat next to him. "Where should we go?"

"Out." Lance said, and revved up the engine.

Despite Toad's worries, it turned out that Lance _was_ a good driver after all. They pulled out of London, down a few roads, along a ditch and the jeep stopped on the side of a track.

"C'mon. Here we are."

'Here' turned out to be a small hill, covered in grass that reached to Toad's knees. Lance reached the top and flopped down facing the sky with his hands behind his back, one knee raised. Toad sat down beside him.

"We can hide here Toady."

"Hide from what?"

"Everything else."

It was very peaceful. The distance hum of traffic mingled with the louder humming of nearby insects mixed in with the sweetish smell of dry grass and clover. The air was still and hot, only the occasional wisp of cloud brought relief with a small rustle of wind. Toad watched a ladybird clambering determinedly up a grass stalk, hanging on desperately as he made it sway with his foot.

"Last time I came up here it was raining." Lance murmured, his eyes closed.

"When was that?"

"About three years ago, when they took Liam away."

"Who's Liam?"

"My first foster-father. He was the one that taught me to drive. He needed it see, when we went out with all his mates and they got plastered. He needed me to drive him back."

Toad frowned. That didn't seem quite right with him, but Lance continued. "I loved it with Liam, he didn't care when I did bad at school, or when I got in trouble. His wife, Trish, she was cool too. Used to take me out to all those expensive clothes places, buy me loads of stuff. Shopping with Trish was awesome."

"Why did they take Liam away?" Toad asked. The world of foster-parents was a mysterious land that he'd never really experienced. Nobody wanted a green child. Part of him felt jealous of the children that got taken away, to stay with people who would look after them and care for them, but part of him was quite glad they never took him, because there were all sorts of horrifying rumours about what foster-parents were like.

"He got involved in stuff." Lance waved his hands vaguely, he wasn't certain just what _stuff_ it was that his ex-foster-father had been doing, except that it had made Trish shout at him, and had sometimes made Liam go scary or crazy or sit in the toilets shivering to himself. "So they took him away. And they said Trish wasn't properly married to him so I couldn't stay with her." Lance scowled at the unfairness of bureaucracy. "They _were_ sodding married. Trish had a ring and everything."

There was silence for a bit, and then Toad asked the question he'd being dying to ask since the first time he'd talked to Lance behind the shed. "What…what actually does your mutant-thing do? Does it make things explode?"

Lance peeked out at him sideways from under his lashes, "Do you want me to show you?"

Toad bit his lip, uncertain. "Okay."

Lance stood up, brushed himself down and then knelt, touching the dry earth with one hand. "Okay, ready?"

Toad nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Lance closed his eyes and concentrated. For a short minute nothing happened, and Toad suppressed the urge to giggle. He kept quiet though, right up until the moment where the ground started to tremble.

"Uh…Lance?"

Lance's forehead was screwed in concentration. Toad clutched at the grass around him as the ground rippled, cracking in places. There was a deep rumble from somewhere and then, with a breaking of tension a large crack opened beneath Lance's hand, running down through the ground and splitting the hill in two.

"Wow." Toad breathed as Lance stood up.

"Not bad huh?"

Toad felt slightly jealous. "All I got is a long tongue and green."

"Did they send you to jail for it?"

Toad couldn't think of an answer to that.

* * *

By the end of the third week, Lance was back before the courts, this time for stealing. He'd grabbed a jacket in a department store and run out with it, unfortunately right under the CCTV cameras. There was a distinct air of shocked smugness about the adults in the orphanage, a kind of 'well, we did _tell_ you' attitude that Toad almost managed to ignore. He concentrated on making sure that his jeans were always ripped in at least one place, and trying to be more like his hero, who didn't care about anyone or anything or what they thought.

For the other children, Lance Alvers became something of a legend. He'd defied the teachers, defied the world and then defied the law. Come from prison and then sent back there. A three week wonder.

Mortimer Toynebee was twelve when he watched the only other mutant he knew get sent to prison for the second time.

Lance Alvers was only fifteen.

* * *

**A/N:**

This chapter stars a small cameo appearance from Lance Alvers, as he appears in the X-men: Evolution comics. I have never seen X-men: Evolution and will unashamedly admit that my characterisation is based purely off deviantart pictures. Most notably by Dendraica who does awesome pictures. :)

Lookatliddlescottsummers!


	3. Breaking Away

Disclaimer: See first chapter.

Breaking Away

Institute.

That had been the word that scared him, that had been the reason he'd run, the reason he'd left the orphanage at night, slipping down the rusting drainpipe that led from his window to the wall across the back garden. He'd been heading downstairs one evening to snoop around in the fridge when he'd heard voices coming from the lounge-room. Adult voices, talking about him.

He'd stayed to listen because he didn't figure anyone had the right to talk about him when he wasn't present. The talk had centred around the word 'mutant' which somehow filled Toad with a sort of unexplainable gut-wrenching dread. Alvers had been mentioned, as had the unfortunate garage and then a man Toad didn't recognise, who seemed to have an odd mumbling American-sounding voice, mentioned the dreaded word.

"We do have a thing for this back home. An Institute, run by some guy. Takes care of … people like him."

Institute was the only word he'd needed to hear. He knew what was happening, it was Lance all over again. Lance had gone to an institute; he'd told Mortimer all about it:

"_Institute. That's what they call it. Means jail for people that they want to pretend don't really go to jail. Kids, like us. So they call it an institute."_

"_What's it like?" Toad asked, wide-eyed and uncertain._

_Lance gave an uneasy half-shrug. "I guess it's OK until someone in there decides to hate you. Then you're screwed, cuz you've got no freedom or power to do anything and they don't believe you anyway, not if you're in there for telling lies."_

"_But you were in there for levelling a garage!"_

"_Yeah but they don't know that. They assume every kid whose in there is gonna be lying and squealing and cheating and everything." Lance blew out an unsteady line of smoke and tried to look tough instead of scared, "You know the trouble Toady? They only see one type of bad."_

They'd taken Lance, but they weren't going to take him. And when they started talking about how dangerous he could be (dangerous? Him? Why were they so worried? Was the mutant thing that bad?) it had been the last straw. They didn't like him, for some reason, and they were plotting to send him away to an institute, just like Lance.

As far as Toad was concerned, that kind of behaviour fit in fine with what he knew of grown-ups.

Hastily, he scurried back up the stairs, grabbed a jacket and any cash he could find, and made a break down the drainpipe. He wanted to get away, as quickly as possible, from the lies and the uncertainty and the crazy American guy who had put the idea into their heads that he could be sent to an Institute.

Mortimer Toynbee hit the streets running.

* * *

Breaking out of places was easy. Any idiot knew that, and Victor Creed was no idiot. The hard part, the real challenge, was _staying_ out. Getting out was just a mix of half-thought-out plans, a hell of a lot of guts, some brute strength and a generous portion of luck. Getting out was the simple bit.

He had two hours now, if he was lucky. Two hours before they realised that another of their precious weapon X's had gone missing. And then the searches would start. They'd have a whole squad of men looking within a well defined perimeter for a man who didn't exactly blend in with the crowd. Staying out would not be easy.

There were two options; run or hide. Except hiding was impossible and running wouldn't last for ever. Two hours, how far could he get in two hours? He already knew the answer: not far enough.

He stumbled on, cursing under his breath that his feet were leaving nice clear footprints in the snow. How the hell had the Wolverine managed? He'd got away, no problem, and was probably now the most secretly searched-for person in America. How did you get long distances? Car, that was it, but where would he find transport around here?

Road. Road up ahead. Road was good, road meant possibly car but, even more importantly, no footprints. He was beginning to realise as well, that he had one important advantage: he was unlikely to die. Technically, this meant that if the worst came to the worst he could hide in a snowdrift or something and rely on his mutant powers to stop him freezing to death. Also, if he did get found, a shot was unlikely to keep him down. He had no weapons but, well, who needed weapons when there were trees and things around?

He stopped briefly for breath, looking up at the surrounding pines. Would he actually be able to pull up a tree, if it came to it? He had to keep running, he knew that, but a few minutes was unlikely to make a huge amount of difference, and it would be better to know exactly what his abilities and limitations were.

Hesitantly, he stepped off the road feeling a bit self-conscious as he looked at the trees. Nothing too big, he didn't want to damage his back or anything…

Damage his back? What the hell. He was Sabretooth!

Bending his knees slightly, he grabbed the largest tree around the trunk and strained. There was a slight soreness in his shoulders after the operation, but whatever they had done to his muscles had clearly worked well, it was hard, true, but he could feel the tree giving way beneath his strength, the roots were cracking, not his arms.

There was a slight catch of effort, a strain somewhere in his lower back and then, with a tearing and ripping of power the tree flew out of the ground, almost knocking him over backwards. He turned desperately, swivelling on the spot to prevent it crushing him, and dropped it with a certain amount of relief across the road.

He could pull up trees! Who were Stryker's men to try and stop him?

Feeling slightly more confident, he continued down the road.

* * *

"Drop the gun Gumbo, and turn around slowly."

_Merde_

"You try to pull any stunts and I'll fill your Cajun ass with lead."

_Oh dis is not goin' well. _"What's the matter homme? I brough' your boss the goods, jus' like we said."

"Shut your double-crossing mouth. If I were you I'd try to think of a few better excuses as well, boss isn't going to be pleased with you.

It was amazing, Remy LeBeau mused as he was frogmarched down the alley, hands behind his head and a gun at his back, just how _wrong_ things could go. This was meant to be a milk-run, drop the goods, get the cash. No trouble, no problem. Except of course, that noone had told him exactly who they were collecting the cash _from_.

"Boss is gonna be pleased to see you again Gumbo. We was wondering where you went to, after you disappeared so sudden that night we did the Lewis job."

That was the problem with changing allegiances so often. You tended to forget who would currently bear you a grudge. It wasn't as if he double-crossed _everyone_, that would be far too dangerous, it was just that sometimes, with enough money, changing allegiances became just another job. He tried to remember what had happened in the Lewis job, and had a horrible feeling that the police had become involved in someway. Selling out to other people was one thing, but as soon as police became involved a line had been crossed. It didn't make sense to Remy, who knew that police were as easy to corrupt as anyone else. Easier in some cases.

He was shoved down some stairs, and then given enough momentum by the gun at his back to stagger forward, trip over a crack in the floor and sprawl headlong into a surprisingly well-lit basement. His memory chose this point to present him with every detail it could find about the Lewis job and just what a spectacular cock-up he'd made of it.

_Looks like it's gonna take more than a few sweet words to get Remy out of dis one._

"Remy! It's been a long time."

He lifted his head, trying to discretely blow his long fringe out of his eyes, "Hey Miz Louise."

"You've got a bit of explaining to do Remy. Correct me if I'm wrong, but here was little me thinking you were working for us."

"I…uh…" He tried to push himself up, but a heavy booted pressure on his back seemed to suggest that it wouldn't be a good idea.

"I thought you'd left, Remy, left us all to the mercy of the pigs, but here you are, back again!"

There were some sniggers from various corners of the room. He guessed that quite a few people were enjoying the sight of the previously cocksure favourite sprawled in disgrace on the floor.

"Guess I was wrong then. That breaks my heart Remy, such a beauty like you turned out to want to leave me after all. I guess the only thing left to console me is that you won't be taking your lying pretty looks anywhere else when Saul finishes with you. Or maybe you will but they sure won't be as pretty."

She was sharp, oh she was clever, but what she wasn't was one of the best. None of the best, Remy knew, would have a high up window in their basement. It wasn't much, it wasn't big, but it was big enough and that was all he needed. And he had an opportunity now as well, as the boot was lifted from his back and the man leant down to pull him back up.

He smashed him elbow back, giving a small whimper as it connected with hard bone, and then swung around to the front, kicking out at someone. Miss Louise gave a yell of half-surprise, half anger. He scrambled desperately to the side, aiming a punch at anyone who came his way, and then, oh there was a god after all! His hand connected with the light switch and threw the room into semi-darkness.

There was complete confusion in the room. It wasn't pitch black, but the sudden change in light levels had left most people lost and stumbling. By the time enough people had recovered, and the lights had been found again, there was nothing left of Remy LeBeau but a slightly open window and a few booted scuffmarks on the wall.

"Uh…Miss Louise?"

She didn't even grace the questioner with a glance. "Yes. Find him. Drag him back and hand him over to Saul."

"Right." The man nodded gloomily. He knew enough about mercenary behaviour (particularly the behaviour of a particular Cajun) to realise that the task would in all likelihood be a fruitless one. The man had the ability to disappear the way no kid with crazy red eyes should be able to disappear.

Unless he made some stupid mistake, Remy was long gone.

* * *

**A/N:** I hate Miss Louise. Hate, hate, hate her. I knew I should have made her a bloke! I just wanted the vaguely flirty talk, and stuff. Golden Rule of Fanfiction: Never Introduce a Female OC.

She's not coming back btw. She drowns in a freak yachting accident in Colorado. Yes. Involving a sudden hurricane, a small silver tea-set and a very surprised moose.

For those who don't know who Gambit is, give him a quick search on wikipedia. I would write a short description, but I am busy washing Miss Louise out of my brain with acid.

There is only one thing I like about this chapter and that is Lance's line: "You know the trouble Toady? They only see one type of bad." I am actually very tempted to cut the entire chapter except that line, because I think most of the rest is shite.

Urgg. Bleargh. Stupid chapter. Next one will be better.


	4. Alone

Disclaimer: See first chapter.

Alone

"What have you found?" Magneto asks. Mystique has been working on the computer all day, frowning at the screen in concentration. He doesn't mind, in a way he's quite pleased as it gives him more control over the design of the Base. The cave is starting to look quite impressive now, all gleaming metal and dark stone.

"Hmm?" She looked up. "Oh, I was just looking at Weapon X."

"Weapon X?" He frowned for a moment, before remembering, "Ah yes. Stryker's little … project. We have tried with that one, it's out of our hands now."

That had been a bad blow for both of them, him and Charles. Neither of them had any idea what was happening with Stryker's project, or exactly what in involved, except that somewhere along the line, mutation came into it.

"Charles is still pursuing various diplomatic channels, I believe." Magneto continued, "I wouldn't worry about it too much if I were you. We have other plans."

"Then I suppose it wouldn't interest you to know that two of them have escaped?"

"Escaped?" He looked dubious, "From Stryker? Are you sure?"

"Certain. Well … certain of one escapee at least. X5, codename: Sabretooth. There are rumours that another one got out too, X2, the Wolverine, but I can't find enough to back that up." She smiled at him, faintly mockingly, "Do they sound like angry-adults to you?"

He gave a short laugh, she'd won this time, "Very well. I suppose our business with Stryker is not over after all."

"I don't know about Stryker, but I have a feeling we should probably be interested in his missing projects." She pulled up the details she'd managed to find about Sabretooth, "They strengthened his muscles, especially around the shoulders, I can't find out how, but they bulked him up substantially. Sharpened the teeth, added some kind of claws, nothing particularly impressive, but a definite improvement as far as fighting goes."

He gave her a swift look, "You sound almost as though you … approve."

"For most of it he had no anaesthetic." Her voice was hard, "That would have interfered with something in the process. They turned a mutant into a machine, a machine for fighting, for their wars."

"Raven…" he put a hand on her shoulder by way of apology. She shrugged it off and turned back to the computer.

"I'll try and see if we can find him. It shouldn't be terribly difficult, I haven't found a proper picture yet, but I imagine he'll stand out."

"It might be wiser to find someone else to find him." He said, "He is a fighter after all, could be dangerous, and I've no desire to spend the next few months running around in the snow looking for a Sabretooth."

"Yes." Her hands flew like lightening over the keyboard, "I was planning on that."

* * *

Toad stared at the pigeon. The pigeon stared right back at him.

"Move." Toad croaked, flapping a hand at it.

The pigeon gave a small waddle to the left.

"Go on, move, get off the grating." He flapped another hand. The pigeon lazily watched his hand fly by then settled down over the grating, sitting down with the look of a bird that isn't going to move for a while.

Toad scowled at it. There were at least three fish-heads under that grating (courtesy of the late-night sushi restaurant across the road) and he was hungry. Pigeons in London, he'd begun to realise, had a very firm idea of who was in charge of the city. They had also lost almost all their fear of things on two legs, a fear which at this time would have been quite useful.

He was _hungry_. Living on the streets was a lot harder than he had ever imagined. Sleeping on the streets was probably the hardest, paving never really looked uncomfortable until you were curled upon it, when it suddenly metamorphosised into a rough unfriendly terrain with huge cracks and bumps that moved into all the least comfortable places. It was cold as well; his jacket was hardly adequate protection.

Begging was, he suspected, hard enough when you _weren't_ green, and he was supposed to be keeping a low profile. He could eat insects, his growling stomach had decided that for him within the first week, and leftovers from bins, in fact he seemed to be able to eat almost anything without getting ill. He certainly hadn't got ill yet, and he was fairly sure at least some of the scraps he'd been eating had been well past the sell-by date.

He gave the pigeon a baleful stare. It ignored him. He was going to have to try and pick it up, he knew that, and then it would peck and scratch at him, and cause more damage than a terminally obese bundle of feathers had a right to cause.

They were only old fish heads! But they were starting to make his mouth water. And he could eat them, he knew, he could eat anything, no matter what state it was in, hang on…

He looked at the pigeon again, with a slightly more calculating eye. The pigeon shuffled nervously, feeling, in its little pigeon brain, that something was wrong when people looked at you like that. Centuries of pampered living in the city peeled back, reminding it of a time when things that looked at you like that had a special name, and that name was _predator_.

Toad bit his lip. If this worked, he would solve pretty much all of his food problems. Pigeons were practically endemic in London, and noone would miss them.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and then shot his tongue out, trying not to think about what he was doing. The pigeon gave a desperate 'squark!' and tried to take off but by then it was too late.

It tasted crunchy. And faintly like chicken.

* * *

He stopped the first car he found by the simple method of getting into the road and standing in front of it. The man at the driver's seat swerved desperately to avoid him, knocking the wing mirror off against a tree, and narrowly avoiding smashing the car. Sabretooth waited until it stopped, amidst muffled cursing about insurance, then pulled the man out, dropped him protesting by the side of the road, and sped off in the car.

He had no idea where he was going, a prospect which worried him. In the army there had always been instructions, in Weapon X there had been even stricter confined rules, and he suspected that even before that, back in the days where his memory could no longer reach, there had been orders and rules to dictate what to do. Here, out in the snow on his own, he had no idea.

The car ran out of petrol eventually, so he dumped it by the side of the road as he had its owner. He continued down the road until it hit a town, a small mess of roadside houses sprawled messily over the snow.

He headed for the bar, on the basis that it's better to be lost and alone with alcohol that without. The only money he had was some spare change from the glove compartment, so he stumped in, pushed it onto the counter and mumbled something under his breath.

The barman nodded, recognising a man who just wants strong alcohol, and passed him a dirty bottle. He sat in the corner, trying to look inconspicuous and attempting to work out what the hell he was going to do with the rest of his life.

Get away, that was the first thing. To get as far as possible from Stryker's base. They'd be looking for him by now, and if they'd found the man in the snow, they'd know he had a car. That would pull the search radius open, until they found the car of course. Mentally, he cursed himself for not trying to hide it. Once they found the car, that would be it, they'd narrow it down to here.

So, drink. That was first. Drink the drink, then grab another car just as someone's about to set off in it. Head for a big city, he can get lost in a big city, _anyone_ can get lost in a big city, the trick was to be lost and still alive.

Would that work? He had no idea. But it was a plan, and at the moment, all he needed was a plan.

And alcohol, naturally.

* * *

**A/N**: Meh, short chapter. But thankfully in this one I don't feel like dropping any of the characters into a vat of hot acid. Mystique is a bit off in this, but I do like the pigeon. And Sabretooth oddly enough, I'm beginning to feel very glad that I decided to put Sabretooth in this. They will all meet up soon, don't worry.

Reviews of any kind are much appreciated.


	5. Across the Pond

Disclaimer: See first chapter.

Across the Pond

Toad scowled out of the window as the aeroplane taxied along the runway. His shoulders were hunched up as far as they would go, which meant that his coat covered almost all of his face, but people were still staring.

The man sitting next to him cleared his throat nervously and made a doomed attempt at sounding cheerful, "Well Mortimer, we're taking off!"

"Toad." Toad muttered, "Mortimer's a stupid name."

The man gave a slightly apologetic look around at the rest of the passengers, who were determinedly ignoring them. "Not long now, and there'll be people from Xavier's Institute to meet us at the other end. Is, uh, is your hand OK?"

Toad ignored him, preferring instead to watch as London dwindled below him, disappearing as the plane rose upwards. His hand. Yeah, that was where it had all gone wrong. Because even with a plentiful food supply, there were still some things you needed and with winter approaching warmth was high up on the list. A big jacket, that would help, one of those parka things, or some type of fleece. Something waterproof for preference.

High quality jackets couldn't be found by rummaging in the trash bins. He was too conspicuous to work or beg, and so had turned to pretty much his only other option, petty theft. To his surprise, it hadn't been too hard, his best technique had been to loiter around in market places, wait until someone put a purse or wallet down on the counter for a few seconds, grab it with his tongue and run like hell.

It had worked, for a while, but the degradation of his school trainers had meant that his first priority had been boots (big vintage Doc Martens. Just like Lance). And people didn't come to the market too often when it got colder, the shopkeepers were getting warier too, the number of times he'd been chased off with the end of a broom.

Taking money direct out of people's jackets had seemed like a good idea at the time. And for the first few wallets it had seemed like a great idea. Right up until he'd pushed his luck a bit too far, and assumed that anyone drunk was less likely to notice him surreptitiously sneaking his fingers into their jacket.

Well that had been a _bad_ idea.

He shivered slightly at the memory, as the plane climbed above the clouds. The guy had been six foot tall, what the _hell_ had he been thinking, but he'd been giddy on success, and almost had enough for a jacket, and the guy had looked rich, walking out with some girl on his arm, throwing a handful of notes at the bouncer. Toad had figured that he'd be too busy with the girl, too full of drink to notice.

Figured that one wrong.

It had been slightly surreal at the time, his hand suddenly engulfed in a meaty fist, caught, terrified, like a rabbit in the headlights, the girl swearing at him, the man talking, talking soft, sounding very far away. His feet were glued in place, he could hardly move, didn't try to run, didn't even scream, just stood there, whimpering slightly, as the man coolly and deliberately broke every bone in his fingers.

The pain happened later, when the adrenaline rushed out. He'd tried to hide it, tried to live with it, but after the third day, when his fingers were looking all blue and puffy and leaking weird yellow stuff he'd given in. He was cold, he was hurt, he was in huge amounts of pain, the streets were no longer an option.

He'd crawled into the first hospital he could find and croaked his name out. The woman on the desk had taken one look at his weird green hand, with bones and fingers all at odd angles, and sent him straight to intensive care where, mercifully, they knocked him out as quickly as possible. He wondered how long it had taken them to work out he was _meant_ to be green.

After that it had all been fairly inevitable. His name was on the records with a nice big M for Mutant next to it. Phone calls had been made, people had been contacted and here he was, on an aeroplane next to some guy on the way to an Institute in America.

He wished Lance were here, but somehow thinking of Lance didn't even help, because all he could hear were Lance's words, in the few times he'd got the boy to talk about his time in Prison.

_He'd thought it was amazing, like an adventure, and Lance the hero so tough and brave. He hadn't noticed then, that the toughness was an act, a part, to keep the fear away. He would only notice that later, when he looked back and realised that Lance was the most terrified person he'd even known._

"_They…they didn't hit you or anything did they?"_

_Lance gave a sigh, "Well … no. Thing is Toady, it's not about hitting. The other kids did that sure, people were always getting into fights and stuff, but not the people in charge. Thing is, akk, I dunno how to explain it. You don't have to hit someone to make them hurt, to make them feel like crap."_

_Toad frowned, although he could kind of see. _

"_It's just like, if your in charge of someone, and you don't like that person, there's just a million ways to make things just that little bit harder. Not big things just little things, so you grind right down and cave in. Right there at their sodding feet."_

_He couldn't imagine Lance caving in. And he hadn't known then that the older boy had been blinking back tears, pulling on the cigarette to blame his choked breathing on the smoke._

"_Lance…isn't smoking bad for you?"_

"_Makes me feel good."_

"_But won't you die earlier?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_In that case, Toady, I better have another one, yeah."_

* * *

"Kelly." Magneto frowned, "I can't say the name sounds familiar."

"It shouldn't." Mystique yawned, closing the laptop and leaning back in her chair, "He's a small time political backbencher who wants to feel big. So he's taken an 'anti-mutant stand' in the hope that shouting slogans loud enough will get him closer to the Whitehouse."

"Protecting all law abiding freedom-loving peoples of this fine country." Magneto said, almost managing to keep a straight face.

"That sort of thing." She walked through into the main room and looked around, impressed, "You've done well with the décor."

"Thank you."

"Is _everything_ made of metal?"

He nodded, "Why build a base I can't control?"

"I like the Newton's cradle."

"I thought you might." The iron balls bounced gently against each other with a small 'klink' "So, Kelly, are we worried?"

She shrugged, "Depends how people react."

"And how do you think they'll react?"

"What do I think, or what do I hope?"

Magneto sighed, "Ah yes, hope. Is there still any of that around?"

She shrugged, "Oh, I've managed to find someone crazy enough to volunteer to look for our Sabretooth. Possibly a mutant as well, so could be a potential gain."

"Well done. Any further information about Sabretooth?"

"His name. Creed. Victor Creed. But apart from that, nothing."

* * *

He had to get away. Toad had spent six hours on the plane thinking about it, and a further four as they dragged their way through customs, explaining and Xavier's-letter-producing at every single step. It was … warmer in America, wasn't it? Yeah, it must be, Hawaii was in America after all and that was warm. And America was next to Mexico, it would be fine. He had a nice big jacket now anyway, and could survive on the streets, sort of.

Anything would be better than an Institute, than one of the places that had left Lance looking so worried and nervous. At the moment, he only had the one guy looking after him, it should be easy enough to cut and run.

They approached the exit terminal, both feeling nervous. Past the last security people, towards the doors, and oh no the man had spotted someone, a hand on his shoulder guided him strongly towards a bald guy in a wheelchair and a tall teenager wearing what he had to admit were seriously cool shades.

OK, here goes, it was now or never. He turned towards the man next to him and, half unconsciously, half deliberately, spat in his face.

It certainly had the desired effect, the man let go of his shoulder immediately. But … it wasn't normal spit, the stuff had felt odd leaving his mouth, sort of … gloopy. And the man in front of him was struggling with what looked like some sort of green _thing_ on his face.

Toad stared, gaping, for as long as it took him to realise that the security guards had noticed as well, and then took off. Swinging himself over the barrier and dashing away from the doors he ran, his long legs taking him far away from the repercussions of security.

* * *

**A/N**: Meh. Bad ending. But good chapter (if short). Please leave reviews, because I am very busy with work at the moment and if I don't get reviews I am liable to forget that I have another chapter of this to write.

Heh. This chapter has been in planning since about two chapters ago, when I suddenly realised that Toad was on the wrong side of the sodding Atlantic. My initial panic plans involved weird and exotic mechanisms for Toad transferral (including a hot air balloon at one point) but I think this line worked fairly well.

Btw, Toad's thoughts concerning America are not completely atypical. England is very, very small, and there is a tendency among people there (especially kids, who don't think about it too often) to forget that America is actually quite a bit bigger. In fact, everywhere is quite a bit bigger with the possible exception of Luxembourg.


	6. Blue and Green

Disclaimer: See first chapter.

WARNING: Yeaah…there's a bit of a high gore factor in this one. Just turned out that way. (and those who have read 'playing with fire' will realise that this is actually a scene from a throw-away line in that. Toad did mention he'd been at a cage-fight…)

Blue and Green

America was cold, it turned out. Far colder than it should have been. But it also had handy hiding-places for people with no proper homes to go to. Places with crowds, where he could duck and dodge and pick up discarded chip wrappers (he never understood why people would drop a carton that was still _half full of chips_), and, because it was the easiest thing to do, occasionally slip the odd wallet out of someone's pocket.

There probably were such places in London, he figured, he'd just never found them and hadn't know where to start looking. Around here, they were everywhere, he already had a few that were his favourites, where no one noticed him at all.

He slid into the murky bar, huddling into the warmth of the crowd and wondering dimly what was going on tonight. Someone had taken down the pole that usually graced the middle of the room, and in its place was a large steel cage. He shivered slightly in apprehension, whatever was happening it didn't look like it was going to be as pretty as the usual Friday night show.

_Not gonna concern me anyway_ he though, gently pulling a ten dollar note out of some mans back pocket, _heh, serve him right for having money flapping about anyway._

The crowd was growing, there was an air of excitement in the room. Beer was flowing freely, Toad lapped a small pool off the side of the bar with his tongue while no one was looking, making a face as he did so. Beer tasted _awful _but he could never resist trying it, just incase this time he suddenly found out what everyone made such a fuss about.

The crowd suddenly started shouting, feet stamping, voices yelling. Toad ducked slightly, out of habit, but the force of their attention was not focussed on him, instead it was on a heavy thick-set man who had just walked out of a door on the left. He nodded his head at the crowd a few times then climbed into the cage.

_What did he do wrong?_ Toad wondered, carefully slipping his hands into the back pocket of a platinum-blonds handbag.

The man didn't seem to have done anything wrong at all. Toad frowned, trying to figure it out. The crowd roared again, slightly feebler this time, as another man came through the door, a lot lighter than the first, with hair that hung over his face in pale brown bangs, partially hiding his features.

Toad didn't understand until he too climbed into the cage and then the realisation hit him _oh, they're gonna fight each other. Should be interesting._

The fight seemed somewhat a foregone conclusion. The first man was pacing back and forwards, occasionally shaking a fist at the crowd, nodding as it cheered along with him. The second stood in the corner, rubbing his arms like someone feeling chilly. He looked almost scarily young, much younger and thinner than his opponent.

Toad would had written it off, the older man looked more confident, more skilled, more _everything_. If it weren't for the fact that the man standing in the corner was grinning. Manically. Toad had never seem anyone smiling like that before, certainly not when facing someone who was built like a brick wall.

It was the concentration, he told himself later (much, much later). He'd been too busy staring at the fighters, too busy wondering whether the young man would have any chance at all, or whether he'd get snapped in two at the first opportunity. To busy to concentrate properly…

It happened like a flashback of that dreadful night in London. One minute he was staring at the cage, the two men were getting closer, something seemed about to happen, and the next minute a hand was engulfing his, pressing on the same injuries as before (they had healed long ago but he still had the memories, oh he'd always have the memories).

He froze, again, but the man that had caught him this time was not six foot tall, he was almost Toad's height, with hair that was combed almost laughably over a receding hairline and a smart pinstriped suit. Suits were fine, in Toad's litany of People to Steal From. Suits meant soft, meant office, meant money.

He tried to twist away, but suddenly there was another man behind him. This one wasn't six foot either, he was far taller, almost blocked out the lights, he wore a suit as well, or rather, the suit seemed to be constructed around him, in the same way that tarpaulin is pulled over a very large rock…

"Is this…" The rock-in-a-suit looked down at Toad and gave up on a descriptive noun, "Is this bothering you?"

Toad tried to spit but his mouth had gone horribly and treacherously dry.

The man holding him made an impatient sort of noise, "Take him outside."

Toad was grabbed by the scruff of the neck and hauled off, as the crowd gave a great shout for the beginning of the fight. Desperately trying to struggle out of his jacket, Toad shivered. There had been undertones in the phrase 'take him outside' that he didn't like at all.

_Aw shit, shoulda stayed in London with a broken hand._

There was another man outside, not quite as rock-like, who was leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette. He straightened up quickly when Toad was dragged outside, spitting the cigarette into the gutter.

"What th' hells that!"

"Some guy who was annoying the boss."

"Finish 'im?"

"Nah. Just teach him."

Toad gave a gulp, but his mouth was still dry and his legs seemed to have turned into jelly. The man holding him pulled his jacket over his head, Toad gave a horse yelp as it caught on his hair, and then turned him around, gripping his arms tight.

"M'sorry." Toad gasped, trying to look the man in the eyes, just in case the lie-to-children that apologising for crimes helped a damn turned out to actually be true. "P-P-please, don't"

There was the clink of a chain behind him, and his eyes bulged as he suddenly realised what they were about to do, "Hell, y-y'can't-"

The chain snapped across his back like a whip-crack. Every muscle in him tensed, arching and hissing and suddenly his mouth figured out how to work and started screaming right up until one of them (he didn't know which one) shoved the corner of the jacket into his mouth. It hurt more than anything, more than his hand, more than the accidental burn from Lance's cigarette, more that fire, more than anything he'd ever experienced right up until two second later when the second one landed and then, oh god, it kept happening-

He collapsed eventually, and a series of complicated nods between the two men determined that he'd had enough. They flung him in the gutter and wondered back into the club grumbling slightly about missing the fight.

"Will he live?"

"Yeah, course, think I don't know my stuff?"

* * *

Mystique looked at her watch pointedly, giving the night sky an exasperated tut. Four hours late and still nothing. Well, she supposed that was what you got for contacting untrustworthy mercenaries.

Her phone rang and she snatched it up, growling in slight frustration when it turned out to be Magneto, "What?"

"Is he there yet?"

"No." She sighed, "Erik, I don't think he's going to show. Either someone's taken him down between now and last Wednesday or he's just not bothered."

"Leave it a bit longer." He suggested.

She pulled her coat around her, muttering slightly about uncooperative useless Cajuns, "I told you we should've hired that guy from Boston."

"He wasn't a mutant."

"He would have at least turned up. He has a reputation for being efficient. As far as I can tell your Cajun only has a reputation for jumping ship at the right moments and selling people out."

"But does he have the skills to take down Sabretooth?"

She frowned, Erik was right, of course, "I'm not waiting here for too long though, it's freezing."

* * *

His back was on fire. That was the simple matter of it, Toad realised. It was of course, invisible fire, but fire none the less. Maybe he could just not move and then hopefully he would fall apart. That would be good, save a lot of problems and it might even put the fire out.

His head felt blurry, his thoughts were all wrong. He twisted his head slightly, groaned, and then realised that there was someone else next to him, also lying in the gutter.

"Yo." He mumbled. Because it was always best to be polite.

The other person gave him a weak smile. He was young, around twenty, with hair that dangled down into his eyes; fairly muscular and deathly pale. He looked familiar and Toad frowned, trying to remember why.

"Weren't…" He asked, but carefully, carefully before his back split open and his head fell out, "Weren't you in the fight?"

"Yeah." The man gasped. One hand was holding his side and Toad noticed with horror that a small trickle of blood was leaking out from under the palm.

"What, what happened."

"I. Won." Was it right for people to look so pale? Maybe he was cold. Toad tried to move forward to help him but the starts didn't want to move, or maybe they did because his head was suddenly full of fuzzy spots and streaks of white pain. Maybe best not to move then.

"You won?" He could hardly believe it. That the thin crazily smiling man who'd been so… alive trembling in the corner of the ring was now here, so pale, so empty. Lying in the gutter while his life trickled out under his hands.

"Yeah. Stupid. Shoulda. Took it. But no. Wanted to. Wanted to show them."

Toad frowned, because the world wasn't making sense any more. "You look cold. You should go in."

"Can't." The man tried to shake his head. His lips were starting to look blue. "Can't move kid, my guts'll fall out."

"Guts." Toad repeated. The word sounded wrong in his mouth so he tried it again. "Guts." It made him feel sick. And when he noticed the trickle of blood from beneath the man's hand had reached the floor he almost was sick.

"Sliced right open. Shoulda. Shoulda took it. Not too bad. Taken a beating before. You gotta know kid. Can't always win. Not always safe. Sometimes. Sometimes you gotta loose. Or they slice you."

"Slice." Toad repeated dutifully, in case that helped.

"Stupid." The man took a breath and started to cry, slight shuddering tears that increased the blood flow from his hand, his fingers were staining with it, Toad wanted to shout at him, to get him to stop or go away or not be real. "Stupid. Stupid. But. Ah. Almost. Almost worth it. Ha. Not gonna take it. Not gonna take it. Not any more."

"Stop." Toad whispered. He wanted to tell the man to stop, to explain that he didn't want to see but he couldn't look away because of the fire on his back, "Please. Stop."

"Paid. Always. Paid to loose. Like a whore. But I'm gonna show them. Stupid. So much. Money. On me loosing. Always. Always was. Stupid whore."

"Please." And Toad was crying now, and each tear tore his back open and made him cry even more. "Please."

And then mercifully, the man stopped. His voice died out, and then even his breath died out. Toad wanted to thank him, but he was too busy trying not to cry.

There was someone else though. Someone at the end of the alley, standing out in the streetlamp. Toad squinted through the pain. It was a man, no, it was…

Now it was a woman. And Toad knew he was hallucinating because she was naked, and this wasn't in a club. And she was blue. In a dazzling moment of clarity he suddenly realised what had happened. He was dying, and they always said when you were dying you got to see your mother, he remembered thinking that if that was true maybe it wouldn't be too bad.

And she was blue! He was green, his father must be yellow, it all made sense now, he wasn't a mutant he was just green. He reached out, head almost creaking with the main and the effort, and he saw her look at him, her eyes shocked and startled and he managed to croak out "M-m-mum. Mum."

And then the stars and the fire took control of his mind and that was all.

* * *

Mystique was fed up. Fed up with waiting for overdue mercenaries with no sense of time commitment. Five hours was enough to wait for anyone.

She didn't like her disguise either. The coat was too thin, the beard didn't suit her, she'd overdone the muscles far too much and certain … other parts … were starting to chafe.

She ducked down an alleyway, better to change where no one was likely to see her, no reason to cause a panic, even though there was hardly anyone around at this time of night. She quickly regained her original form, giving a sigh of relief as the blue rippled over her, and was just wondering what form to walk back as (it would have to be some type of man, unfortunately, it was hardly a good time or place to be a woman out alone) when she heard a sound from halfway down the alley.

Her head whipped around, hoping desperately it was just some drunk, she really didn't feel like taking anyone out. She gave a sigh of relief as she realised that whoever it was was lying in the gutter (probably drunk then) which changed to a gasp of horror as her eyes took in the scene.

A boy. Probably around fifteen or sixteen, collapsed in the gutter next to a blood stained jacket and a man who was quite clearly recently deceased. His back was a mess, covered in hundreds of small cuts that leaked out into the gutter. She saw him turn towards her, make a game attempts at pulling himself forwards and mumble something that she had a horribly nasty feeling sounded like "M-mum?"

He was a mutant.

And her mind could not help but drag her back in time to another mutant child. _Right now_ her tretcherous mind whispered, _he would be the same age as this one. Maybe in the same state as well; lying in the gutter bleeding half to death and calling out to you. His mother._

She bit the side of her lip, trying to shove the thought away. It wasn't _fair_, her child had _never_ been part of her responsibility. She hadn't even wanted it, _It was blue and furry and looked up at her so sweetly with big wide eyes and had almost broken her heart._

It was sometime around then that she'd decided that she'd never have a heart to break again.

In front of her, the boy collapsed, landing in the blood and the dirt and the mess of the gutter.

_Who's looking after your boy now, hey? Who pulls him out of the gutter and bandages him up? Who feeds him and looks after him and how do you know he hasn't died already, died like this one will if you leave him, dead in the gutter._

She grit her teeth and forced herself not to cry. She had never cried, not since she was ten.

_Are you going to let him down? Like you let down your own son?_

* * *

"Mystique?"

She sighed, knowing what was coming. "Yes, Erik?"

"There seems to have been a slight misunderstanding."

She smirked, "In what way?"

"I sent you out to bring back a Cajun Mercenary to help us find Sabretooth. You've returned with a small green child in need of possible medical attention."

He had been quite shocked to see the boy, laid out on a mattress beside Mystiques bed, all wrapped up in bandages with a sheet thrown loosely over him. The last thing they could afford was to show anyone the whereabouts of their secret base, especially a boy who might have anxious parents looking for him.

"He doesn't need a doctor, Erik. Just something to eat and somewhere to stay."

"This is a secret base of operations, Mystique, not a boarding hotel!"

She felt a certain protectiveness stir inside her, "I thought we needed mutants on our side. Besides, he was dying in the gutter, would you prefer it if I'd left him?"

"We need useful mutants, not children."

"He's fifteen, were you useless at fifteen?"

It was a bit of a low blow and she knew it. But the stirring feeling within her was not beneath such techniques, "Wait until he recovers at least, we don't even know what his mutation _is_. And the way he's been treated he's bound to be angry, probably against humanity."

He gave her a shrewd look, "This doesn't have anything to do with your son does it?"

She managed to keep her expression unchanging which, she realised slightly too late, was a give-away in itself, "That hadn't even crossed my mind."

* * *

**A/N:** Yay, everyone is stating to meet up! Next chapter will have Gambit, Sabretooth, and a whole lot of humorous misunderstandings that will probably involve Gambit getting gratuitously kicked around by an angry Sabretooth for a bit.

:D

Please review and keep my life worth living. :)


	7. Gathering

Disclaimer: See first chapter.

Gathering

Toad woke up slowly, his mind dragging him unwillingly out of the dreamy world of fluff and up into the cold harsh uncomfortable reality where his back was still on fire.

Less of a fire, certainly, more sort of sore than anything else. Someone had wrapped bandages around it as well, and a brief investigation confirmed that he could even bend it enough to sit up. He was lying on a mattress, his legs twisted up in a sheet, on a cold stone floor in a grey looking room.

Shit, they'd found him after all. He hadn't been dying, he hadn't seen his mother, he'd just had a hallucination and passed out, to be found by someone belonging to the authorities. He was probably in the Institute now, the room certainly looked a bit Institute-y, or at least what Toad, in his own active imagination, thought an Institute would look like.

His jacket had gone, along with the remains of his T-shirt although the mystery bandaging-person had thankfully left him the dignity of his jeans. Shivering slightly in the cold, he pulled himself off the mattress, wincing as the pain in his back flared briefly. He padded over to the door and put his ear too it, there was some sort of conversation going on on the other side:

"Sorry, sorry, I got hel' up. You can't blame Gambit fo' dat."

"Very well." The voice sounded impatient, "Do you understand what you have to do?"

"Yeah, go up North, fin' dis Sabretooth, bring him back here. Simple."

"He may be quite … dangerous." This voice was female, "He's not just a mutant, he, well, you read the printout didn't you?"

"Uh." From the tone of his voice, Toad guessed that the man with the odd accent had most definitely _not _read whatever printout the woman was referring too. And the content of the conversation confirmed his earlier thoughts; this was clearly a mutant-holding institute, and these people were the ones who found mutants and brought them here. "Don' worry chere, Gambit knows what he's doin'"

"Right." The woman sounded amused, "Well I'm sure you'll be fine then."

Toad moved closer, leaning against the door which, to his complete surprise, fell open infront of him, depositing him in a heap on the floor beyond. He gave a hiss of breath as his back complained about the fall, this was meant to be an institute, didn't people know about locks?

"Woah." Gambit took a smart step backwards as Toad sprawled over the floor, "What is dat?"

"Our lodger, apparently." Magneto said dryly.

Mystique shot him an annoyed look, then glanced down at Toad. "Are you all right?"

She was blue! It was the blue woman he'd seen last night. A wave of utter relief flooded through him as he realised that this wasn't an Institute, he'd been taken in by mutants, they would understand him, they would be like Lance, and everything would be fine. Pulling himself up, he tried to look slightly more presentable, "Yes, uh, Miss. I'm fine. I didn't know the door would do that."

He kept his eyes on her, because the older man was starting to look angry, and the younger was looked at him in a vaguely horrified way, as if he were something strange and unnatural. Also because the younger man had scary eyes, red iris's set in pure black, and the bangs that fell over his face reminded Toad of the fighter lying in the gutter and that thought made him feel sick, even though he hadn't quite sorted out in his head what had happened there. It was all a confused memory of pain and stars and a trickle of blood against the mud.

"Come on." The woman said, and put an arm on his shoulder that forcefully swivelled him away down the corridor. She seemed very strong for a woman, so Toad decided not to argue and go along with it.

"Are you hungry?" She asked, once they were out of earshot of the two men. Toad nodded enthusiastically. "This way."

She took her hand off his shoulder and ushered him into a small room which bore a passing resemblance to a kitchen. Plastic bags littered the table, spilling their contents over chairs and onto the floor. Whoever lived here clearly had more important things on their minds than keeping the kitchen tidy.

"What do you want to eat?" Mystique wrinkled her nose at the mess and picked her way over to the fridge. "I think there's some pizza left."

"Uh, do you have ice-cream?" Toad asked hopefully. After around six months of pigeon consumption he craved something sweet. Chocolate was too sickly, cake stuck in his throat, but ice-cream was always perfect. Smooth and sweet and…

"Eat." The woman dumped a plate in front of him, pulling him out of ice-cream based fantasies and into the real world, which contained two slices of congealing Marguerita. He whipped out his tongue and swallowed them down gratefully.

She raised an eyebrow at that but, thankfully, made no comment. She didn't even look disgusted, which renewed his feelings that this was clearly a place of safety, a place where people understood mutants, where there _were_ mutants and they were normal…

He could deal with the two men later. Hopefully with this woman supporting him.

"What's your power then?" Mystique asked, hoping for his sake that it was something useful. Magneto was tolerating him at the moment, but she knew well enough that it would not last. When Magneto had a focus it took over his life and his thoughts, there would be neither the place nor the time to carry extra baggage.

She needed a way to stop Toad becoming extra baggage.

"I'm green." He shrugged. "And I've got the tongue. And I can jump. Quite high."

"Anything, uh," the word useful died on her lips, "Anything else?"

He frowned, and then remembered, "Oh yes, I can spit green goo." He demonstrated.

She managed not to give a shudder, "What is that?"

He shrugged again, then decided to come clean, "If it sets on someone's face it's deadly."

She couldn't stop the look of mingled surprise and relief, nor the fact that she clearly sounded pleased about it, "Ah. I see."

"Uh Miss, what is this place?" He asked.

"This is the Base. And you can call me Mystique."

"The Base?"

"Yes." She didn't seem to blink as much as normal people. "Magneto built it; he was the man you saw earlier. It's a base of operations. Mutant operations."

"Ah."

She decided just to come out with it. "We're fighting for mutant freedom. This is our base. I rescued you but, well, you will have to join us if you want to stay."

Toad stared at her, feeling something rise up within him. Something new, something exciting, something that was part of Lance, part of the man in the gutter, part of him. It was something that smoked behind the sheds, and wore ripped jeans and fought even when it shouldn't, even when winning was loosing and there was no way out.

She smiled as she saw it reflected in his eyes. "It won't be easy, I can teach you how to fight, and give you some help, but Magneto is in charge. You answer to him and he is not always … understanding" Well, it was a better word than merciful, "On the other hand, there will be food, a place to stay, a chance for … revenge." She paused at that word, but he was still looking eagerly at her, "and I will try and get some ice-cream."

He grinned back at her, "You can call me Toad."

* * *

He'd spent the night in the bar, because a man built like Sabretooth tends to be allowed to sleep where he wants. The next day he'd stayed in the bar, and that evening, when one of the drinkers had started causing trouble, Victor had simply lifted him up and thrown him outside. No blood, no deaths and he'd nodded at the barman who'd nodded back.

And now he was the unofficial bouncer. It suited him fine, and it suited the barman fine. Two meals and a bottle of whiskey a day, along with a place to sleep. In return any trouble was thrown out, and the bar quickly gained a reputation as somewhere you did not try to steal from.

It was a system, and it worked. For the first time in a while Victor Creed started feeling something akin to contentment. It wasn't ideal maybe, nothing mother Creed would have wanted for her son, nothing anyone would want for a son, but something he could be happy doing. He didn't even have to kill anyone. It wasn't getting him any revenge, which was something he wouldn't mind getting a bit of, especially when his muscles woke up sore, or his mind recovered after yet another nightmare imprinted with Stryker, but he could wait for that.

He was as good as immortal after all; he could wait as long as it took.

The door swung open, with a slight excess of drama, and a figure swept in, jumping slightly when Sabretooth loomed up beside him at the entrance. "Uh, heh. Dis the bar?"

Sabretooth nodded, and resumed his position at the door. The man walked in, generating the odd confused look as he strode up to the bar. It was possibly the boots, or maybe the cloak, or the hairstyle, or the fact that he was wearing glasses inside but he just looked out of place for a dingy small-time bar.

Sabretooth narrowed his eyes. Men trying to look bigger than they were always generated trouble. And the kid was staring at him as well, not obviously, but his eyes were definitely flickering in the direction of the bouncer more often than was necessary.

If there was trouble, it was his business to find out what it was. Sabretooth pushed himself away from the door frame and wondered over to the table, sitting down next to the stranger, who gave him an easy smile.

"You always wear those glasses?" Victor grunted.

The man gave him an uncertain sort of look, then lifted them out the way giving a small shrug. Deep red iris's shone in a black background. "You Victor Creed?"

Sabretooth felt a tightening somewhere in his chest. This was it, they'd found him, and Stryker had sent one of his mutant pets to catch him. He wondered just how much power this man had; more than him? Maybe more than the Wolverine? Whatever was going to happen, he needed to get it out of the bar, no point loosing the only safe place he had.

In a sudden swift movement he stood, grabbed the man by the back of the trench coat and in one motion flung him outside the door. Gambit landed headfirst in the snow, swearing and spluttering. Sabretooth strode out after him, grabbing him before he could get up and slamming him back into a tree.

"Alright, who are you." There was some kind of staff under the man's jacket which Sabretooth ripped off, throwing it as far as he could. For some reason the action scattered playing cards into the snow.

"I don' wan' to hurt you." Gambit gasped. Jus', jus' got some people who wan' to talk to youse, aah!"

Sabretooth snarled in his face, twisting the front of the jacket until he half choked. Gambit struggled frantically, this man was _strong_, far too strong, and he couldn't reach anything to charge up, his hands scrambled at the tree bark, maybe if some of that broke off he could...

"Stryker sent you didn't he?"

"What!"

"Where is he? Anyone else with you?"

"Noone else is, aah! Noone else wit' me, I don' know dis Stryker, stop, aah god, stop hittin' me, dey said you wouldn' mind coming."

"Got that wrong." Sabretooth sneered. The idea of revenge was seeming like a good one, if this man could lead him to Stryker, or even bring Stryker here, any way to get in contact with the man alone would work.

There! A piece of the half frozen bark broke off in his hand, his fingers fumbled but managed to catch it. The distance between him and Sabretooth was small, but it was enough. Trying to keep his actions as hidden as possible he charged up the small piece of wood, filling it with kinetic energy until…

_Wham_

Sabretooth reeled backwards as the man's hand swung round and something exploded in the side of his head. Quickly, Gambit ducked under his arm, flicked off a playing card in Sabretooth's general direction and made a flying leap towards his Bo-staff. He didn't intend on fighting the larger man, but it would be easier to reason with metal in his hands.

The second explosion half blinded him, causing a crashing wave of pain down the side of his face and landing him in the snow. He shook his head desperately, waiting for the pain to clear and realising as it did that the stranger was now standing in front of him, armed and grinning.

"Now listen, I jus' need to…"

Sabretooth gave a grown and launched himself forward, knocking Gambit sprawling. Desperately he reached for another card, wincing as Sabretooth's craws raked down the side of his arms, before pinning his hands up above his head, "No you don't."

Gambit flinched away as far as possible, _aw crap, here we go again_. The only advantage he could see was that Sabretooth was using one hand to hold his hands still, meaning he only had one fist to hit him with.

It wasn't that much of a comforting thought though, when he looked at the muscles bulging from Sabretooth's arms and shoulders. He began to wish he'd read that stupid paper Mystique had handed him, there was _no way_ a man got that strong just through working out.

"Alright." Sabretooth snarled at him, "Let's try again. Who sent you."

"Mutants." Gambit swallowed nervously, "Nggk! Really, dere were two of dem, one blue woman, an' she was hot. Real hot. Youse missing out if you don' join for that. Heh, yeah an' this man. Ol' man. Called Magneto."

"Magneto?" Sabretooth paused.

"He's a mutant." Gambit gabbled on desperately, "They're looking for other mutants. Like you. Guys that can fight and help them."

Sabretooth thought for a moment, frowning in concentration. He didn't believe Gambit's story for a minute, the idea of mutants looking for other mutants sounded insane. Mutation wasn't something you paraded after all, it was something you hid.

But whoever wanted him, seemed to want him alive. If they got him to Stryker alive that was fine by him. Wandering in the wilderness was all very well, but it was beginning to pale.

"Alright. Get up." He watched impassively as Gambit struggled to his feet, smirking slightly as he tried to straighten his cloak and regain some of him composure. "You take me to whoever paid you, and if it is Stryker I'll gut you as soon as I've finished with him."

Gambit rolled his eyes, and then took a neat side-step to avoid the swiping claws, "I tol' you, I don' know who this 'Stryker' is. Get dat in your head homme."

* * *

**A/N:** Feedback about how well written or otherwise the fight scene was would be really, really appreciated. Love you forever and give you my firstborn type of appreciated, and do not be afraid of leaving negative comments; I am a big girl and can cope with criticism. :)


	8. First Impressions

Disclaimer: See other chapters.

First Impressions

It had, Magneto decided, turned out slightly better than he'd hoped. He'd only planned on ending up with one new recruit (if Sabretooth could be counted as just one) and had instead ended up with three. The boy, Toad, he wasn't sure about, but Mystique had seemed to think highly of him. The other one, Gambit, he would need paying, but Magneto was not planning on going short of cash.

They weren't ready yet, oh they were nowhere near ready, but he could wait. He couldn't take on Charles, not with the whole school, but there were plenty of other targets. His aim was not to supplant Charles, hardly even to challenge him, but to do the things that Charles refused to do.

With power came responsibility. They had never agreed, him and Charles, what that responsibility was. For Magneto the responsibility was to look after other mutants, to protect mutant kind.

Humanity? He felt no responsibility for them. Just a sort of slow weary anger, that would flare up at times into something that even he could see was dangerous. But that danger could be put to use...

"Erik?" It was Mystique. Only one person called him Erik.

Sighing, he turned around, "What is it?"

"Sabretooth has woken up. We should probably speak to him before he starts jumping to false conclusions: Gambit did say he was under the impression we were working for Stryker."

Magneto nodded, and together they left the room.

* * *

Cautiously Toad edged into the room, wrapping his coat around him as he did so. He'd been putting this off for a while, hovering nervously near the door and hoping like hell that the man with the red eyes would leave.

He hadn't left. He'd stayed obstinately where he was, reading some book and drinking out of a long thin glass containing something that looked a suspicious yellow colour. It wasn't that Toad found the man scary as such, it was just that this was clearly his space, he didn't want to intrude, yeah, that was it, he was being polite.

Then the man had turned around and Toad had bitten back a snigger, because it's quite hard to maintain the swave trench-coated coolness when your face makes it so clear that you've recently been on the wrong end of a fight. The man had scowled at him and then turned back to the book, which Toad took as an invitation to come in.

He sidled over to the least metallic-looking chair and collapsed into it, pulling his knees up to his chin and trying to squint at the title of whatever the man was reading. "You, uh, you been here long?"

"Non." The man muttered.

"You French or something?"

The question got him a dagger-like glare that shut him up for a while. Bored, he stared around the room. Whoever lived here, and he assumed it was the old man, had a _serious_ problem with interior design. The place seemed to suck the heat out of everything, and the continuing scheme of metal and rock was beginning to give him the creeps.

Actually the rock wasn't so bad. And he'd had a look around after Mystique had given him the pizza and there were some caves that definitely looked interesting. Caves that spoke to him in the generic language of all things green and amphibious; they made the place seem more like somewhere he could call home.

There was a roar and a loud clang from somewhere inside the building and they both jumped, looking guiltily at each other immediately afterwards. The tension in the room dissipated somewhat, and Toad felt it was worth risking another question. "W-what do you think that was?"

"Dat was Sabretooth." Came the reply.

"Sabretooth?"

"The guy dey sent me out to get. Huh, never mentioned he was so dangerous. Dat guy's got a swing like a brick wall, not'ing natural in that."

"He's a mutant?"

"More dan jus' a mutant. Dere's … rumours dat Gambit heard. About what some people do wit' mutants. Bad stuff, wit' experiments and stuff. I'm t'inking dat Sabretooth went through some of dat."

"Ah." Toad managed to keep most of the fear off his face. "Is…is your name Gambit?"

"Dat's me."

"I'm Toad."

The man glanced at him, "Yeah, dat figures."

Toad scowled, trying to work out whether it was an insult or not.

* * *

Thinking was not something that Victor Creed did often. It had been pretty much drilled out of him in the army; soldiers weren't meant to think, just to act, and at the turning point of a fight, where everything's just mud and blood and craziness there's no _time_ for thinking. No place for it. Obey orders and survive, that was how things worked.

Thinking could get you killed.

He scowled at the metal in front of him, and tried another swing at it, which achieved nothing except hurting his hands. Maybe there was a time for everything. And maybe this was a time for thinking.

The old man was a mutant, that was clear enough. They'd only managed a ten minute conversation before Sabretooth had tried attacking him, but he'd managed to get that through. Of course, swinging a large ton of metal right into Sabretooth's face had helped as well.

He was trapped now. Trapped in a metal box. Nothing to do but wait, and think.

He was no longer certain that Stryker was involved in the proceedings. But what did that leave? Some old man with a talent for metal? Sabretooth tried to remember what the man had been wittering on about. Mutant freedom. That sounded fair enough. And fighting, fighting had been mentioned. There had been a woman as well, all blue, just like the Cajun guy had said.

Sabretooth gave a growl of frustration, wishing he'd just knocked the Cajun down and slung him over a cliff somewhere. He could've been back in the bar right now, two meals a day and a bottle of whisky, there were a lot worse positions to be in.

Scowling he tried another fruitless attack at the walls of his metallic prison. If he got out he was going to give that guy _hell_.

Hell as only a Sabretooth could make it.

* * *

**A/N:** Ghasp! What is this! Can it be a whole chapter with no gratuitous violence? Looks like it!

Meh. Not too happy with this chapter. But hey, it takes the story where I want it to go, and the next chapter is all planned out in my head. (Does the last sentence work on a separate line? Or is it just too melodramatic. Maybe I should add a Dun Dun Duuuunnn at the end. Heh)

I have _so much work…_


	9. Test

Disclaimer: see other chapters

Test

"Mutant _problem_?" Magneto snapped out as they strode down the corridor.

Mystique shrugged, "It could have been worse. They could have said epidemic. Disease. Threat. We've heard worse words than problem."

"I don't suppose that any mutants have been invited to this? It never does seem to cross the highly intelligent minds of those who run the country that allowing mutants into a summit discussing mutants might be an idea."

"They evidently forgot our invitations." Mystique smirked.

"Clearly." Magneto smiled a thin calculating smile. "I suppose we'd better go and remind them."

"Do you want to bring along any of our … house-guests."

"I have an idea about that." Suddenly he stopped and turned on her, "Mystique, how much do you care about that boy?"

"The Toad?" She hadn't told him yet, hadn't told anyone that she knew his real name. Mortimer Toynbee. Just one of the things he'd mumbled in a sort of confused delirium as she'd carried him back to the Base the day she'd found him in the gutter.

"Yes." He gave her a shrewd look. "You know why they don't let woman onto the front lines in the army don't you?"

She didn't even dignify that with a response.

"It's more than just prejudice Mystique. It's the same reason they supposedly don't let men who… like men. They need their soldiers to obey orders; to run when told, to shoot when told, to… leave a man behind when told." She made no response. "In the heat of the battle, the soldier's loyalty needs to be first and foremost to the orders given, not to the man next to them. There can be no room for love in war, that's the policy."

"I thought the policy was Don't Ask, Don't Tell."

"He's not your son, Mystique." His voice was harsher than it needed to be, because he was thinking of a child as well; a child with short spiky silver hair that he'd just walked right away from. A child that had been far, far too arrogant to cry, too angry to show that he cared. Or maybe he hadn't cared. Maybe he hadn't wanted to cry. Maybe he'd just smiled in that infuriating way of his; perhaps he'd turned his back as well, as his father walked out of his life.

"I know that Erik." She shot back, bringing him down to earth. "My son is blue."

* * *

"Really?" Toad stared, fascinated, "You just … told her? Just like that?"

"You got dat right kid. I jus' say, 'Miz Louise, I don' want no more of dis crap anymore. I got a new job, lookin' after my people, lookin' after mutants. Don' need none of dis gangland thing, Gambit's heading north.'"

"And she just let you go, just like that?"

"Yeah, she was mad abou' me. Most of the girls were, heh. I tell you homme, dere's not'ing like a-"

The door clanged open, and they both jumped slightly as Magneto strode through, cloak billowing behind him in a fairly impressive manner. "Toad, Gambit?"

"Uh, yeah?" Toad ventured, shooting a nervous look at Gambit who gave a small shrug.

"You know why you are here. You know what this base is for." They both nodded, with varying degrees of reservation. "I know Mystique has spoken to both of you, and you're willing to help us to defend mutant freedom."

More nods. Toad felt the wonderful rebellious feeling spark off inside him again: this was it!

"We have a task to perform." Magneto continued, as Mystique slunk into the room behind him, her face expressionless. "There is a government summit coming up discussing the mutant 'problem'. Naturally they have invited no mutants. I think therefore, we should be sure to turn up and give them a small … reminder of the scale of the problem they are dealing with."

Toad tried to do a smirk, hoping it looked as good as Gambit's.

Magneto gave a small tight grin and then grew serious again. "Before we start planning that however, I need to know what you are capable of."

It sounded faintly ominous, echoing off the stone walls. Toad glanced at Mystique, wondering why she was looking so … still. As if she was trying to freeze all the muscles in her face to stop her reacting. He rather wished she would react.

"Sure t'ing." Gambit said, and Toad was relived to hear that he was sounding faintly nervous as well, "We c'n do fireworks followed by jumping acrobatics if dat's what you-"

"Follow me." He left and they hurried after him, down a narrow corridor. Toad wondered where Mystique was until he realised she was right behind him, she moved as silently as a whisper.

They stopped at a doorway which led out into a much larger room with what looked like a metal panel covering the end. There were a few minutes of silence as they looked around followed by a faint 'clang' from behind the metal.

Behind his glasses Gambit closed his eyes briefly, _merde_.

Toad gulped, and then almost swallowed his tongue as Mystique placed a hand on his shoulder and then hissed quickly in his ear, "Get out the way as quickly as possible, Sabretooth has no quarrel with you and he's no danger unless you're near him, Gambit fires off explosions do _not_ get on the wrong side of him."

"What?" He croaked. His mouth had gone dry again and suddenly she was no longer there, but standing behind Magneto looking determinedly innocent. His back had healed properly by now, but he suddenly felt it aching again, coupled with a twinge from his fingers where they'd been broken all that time ago. _Oh shit, there's gonna be a fight._

"Step forward." Magneto commanded, and they did so. Moving out into the empty space, they both tried to keep as far away as possible from the metal panel, which was starting to shake. Gambit raised his eyebrows at Toad in a faintly good-luck-ish type gesture, and then Magneto moved his hands and the metal panelling shot forward, zoomed across the room and clattered against the back wall.

* * *

He was _angry_ now. Thinking only lasted so long, and he'd decided long ago that he'd follow the old man, hell he'd follow anyone who'd agree to get him out of this damn metal box, it was too confined, he'd never liked confined spaces.

And now there was nothing left but the anger. Anger against the Cajun, for bringing him here, anger against himself for getting tricked, against Stryker for just being Stryker, against the world for throwing him into the shit and then shrugging as he drowned in it.

Anger against that stupid little Canadian prick that he couldn't remember the name of, for getting him into the whole mess with Stryker in the first place (his memories of his time in the army weren't so good anymore), anger at the Wolverine for giving him the idea of escaping, against the old man for trapping him in, against the metal for being _there_.

And suddenly it wasn't.

He blinked in astonishment. The metal had just…gone. Swung away as if it were a strip of paper blown away on a breeze. And there, oh glory be, there was the Cajun right in front of him, and some other kid who looked about to piss himself.

He gave a roar and charged forward, barely noticing as Toad gave a strangled yelp and jumped, to disappear somewhere among the rafters. There was nothing in his line of view except a trench coat and a pair of shades and suddenly a small card which flamed blue and then exploded right in his face.

He gave a yowl, throwing his hands up, trying not to get blinded, swerving out of line. Then there was another card, bursting into stars of pain in his arm, the Cajun was moving, there was shouting coming from somewhere, and he wondered briefly whether it was him.

From his vantage point up in the rafters Toad watched, fascinated. Gambit was dancing around, flicking cards off, while Sabretooth pretty much spun around on the spot, occasionally lurching forwards. The miniature explosions resounded off the walls, occasionally shooting sparks in his direction.

He gave a gasp as suddenly Sabretooth's arm shot out, colliding with Gambit who folded up gracefully to land in a pile on the floor. Sabretooth grabbed and flung him against the wall, Toad's head followed in a fascinated arc, wincing as the man hit the side of the metal wall and crumpled.

Sabretooth seemed to be on a mission of destruction. Toad hoped that Magneto was planning to intervene at some point, surely he would, wouldn't he? He glanced down at the old man and almost fell of the rafters with nervous shock when he realised that Magneto was staring straight back at him, a calculating look in his eyes. He understood then with a sort of cold certainty, that the man was not going to do anything, Magneto was waiting for _him_ to do something.

"Shit." He muttered. Mystique had told him to stay out of trouble, but he couldn't help but think that he'd be in an awful lot more trouble if Magneto came out with the impression that he was useless.

So…fighting. How did that go? He tried to drag up some of the memories from school. People surrounded you, usually, and then you hit and then they hit and then you curled up trying to get away from it and then if you were lucky Lance waded in and pulled you out and knocked everyone else down and then you both got detention.

Maybe it was time for a new strategy.

Toad took a deep breath and jumped.

* * *

A/N: yeah…short little chapter there. So much is happening at the moment, I hope I didn't loose all the readers with the big gap between chapters :).

The first section in this had to be re-written as well because the first time Magneto and Mytique sounded too much like Mal and Zoe from _Firefly_. Heh.


End file.
